Another way I let Myrtle know I love her...

I licked clean the blob of sour cream in her hair when it fell out of the end of her burrito.  A burrito that she would not share with me.  That's the kind of fellow I am.  Even in the face of extreme selfish behavior, I turn the other cheek and saved her a second hair washing of the day.

This is my life with Myrtle.  Amos Adams signing off!

Turtle love...

Oh, how Myrtle loves me!

Turtle was in need of surgery.  You see, I had loved on his leg a bit much.

Actually, Turtle has been in need of surgery for a couple of months.  Myrtle, though, has been tired. So, Turtle has been living on top of the bookcase in the living room, where he could keep on eye on things for me.  Or at least that's what my puppy momma said that Turtle was doing.

As a reward for thrice now letting Myrtle know I needed to go outside for some major business, Myrtle told me that she would tend to Turtle.  However, what she didn't tell me was that she was going to give him an all important addition to his innards, since I had so helpfully provided an opening.

Yep!  You guessed it!  Myrtle loves me so very much that she added a squeaker to Turtle's belly!  A while back Myrtle bought an entire bag of squeakers when she was looking for a replacement squeaker for one of my babies.  A whole bag of love waiting to enter my life!

Boy, does love abounds in this home.  I love Myrtle.  Myrtle loves me.  And I love, love, love Hippo, Flower, Froggy, Bumble Bee, Duckie, Lady Bug, and now Turtle!

For the past 75 minutes, I have been frolicking with Turtle, happily squeezing his belly.  Myrtle was amazed I kept going for so long.  But I just couldn't help myself.  I am so very happy to have Turtle back in my life.  And I am really, really, really happy that he's got a squeaker.  Remember, a fellow simply cannot have enough babies in his life...especially ones that have squeakers!

As you can see, I am sort of tuckered out.  However, I really couldn't leave Turtle all alone after being alone up on that bookshelf for so long.  If you look closely, you will see Turtle peaking out from beneath me.  I figured that he would like to join me for my nap.  I'm rather thoughtful that way!

This is my life with Myrtle.  Amos Adams signing off!  

Let me count the ways...

So, Uncle Dolph asked me what are the ways that I tell Myrtle that I love her.  Well, honestly, there is not enough space on the entire Internet to answer his question, so great a canine fellow am I.  But I thought I would tell you of a few:

Here is one of them:

You see, Myrtle loves, loves, loves when I snore.  She says that I sound like a giant beast when I snore.  She says that no matter how many times I might snore in a single day, each and every time she finds herself smiling and laughing even.  She says that I have a rather wide range of sounds in my snores, from tiny whuffles to booming rattles.  Myrtle tells me that she cannot really capture the good stuff because whenever she moves she wakes me.  I am sure she will keep trying.  Meanwhile, if you watch though, you will see me having a dream and hear some whuffling.  Aren't I not the most handsome guy even whilst asleep?  

Of course, it is not just about the snoring.  Myrtle loves that I prefer to be in contact with her while I am sleeping.  Here's a photo of me last night.  I have my head on her upper arm, while my paws are draped across it as well.  I like curling up beside her, lying on her belly, tucking my chin in the crook of her elbow, leaning on her leg, squeezed between her and the end of the couch, curled behind her head on the back of the couch, sprawled on her bed pillow while she reads...really, the list is endless.  The point is that I know Myrtle craves safe touch.  Basically, I tell her that I love her by letting her that she is not alone even when I am sleeping.  So good am I at this that even when I am sleeping and she shifts about in the bed, I shift, too, so that we are still connected in some fashion.  Yep...I am that good!

You know, Uncle Dolph, this specificity is kind of hard.  I mean, really, by just breathing I show Myrtle that I love her.  I did survive having a vicious pit bull try to eat me.  But, let me think a bit more.  Well, I also:

• Make any morning a good morning because I shower her with kisses when she awakes, wagging my tail, letting her know how excited I am to spend another day with her;
• Follow her around the house, helping her with chores...especially shredding paper that she can then use to light her fires;
• Work very hard at compromises, like figuring out how to straddle the corner of a sidewalk so that I can pee outside even when the grass is wet and no dog should ever be made to walk on it.
• Ride around on her shoulders so that she does not strain her arm muscles;
• Pre-clean all her dishes so she does not have to stand at the sink as long; 
• Greet her with great exuberance each time she returns to the house so that she knows she was missed;
• Learn how to do new things, such as how to go up and down all the different types of steps in the house so that she no longer has to carry me (there are four kinds: wooden steps, carpet steps, open steps, and curving attic steps); and
• Forgive her for being stingy with bacon.

This is my life with Myrtle.  Amos Adams signing off!   

Saying "I love you"...

How do you say, "I love you"?

Myrtle, she tells me that she loves me in all sorts of ways.  Here's one: She lets me sleep on her lap when she would rather be typing away on the computer or playing her Monopoly app.  As you can see, I am starting to take up more and more and more of her lap.  Would you believe that I now out-weigh my birth mom's and dad's combined weight by more than 5 lbs?  That's why my beloved Aunt Bettina started calling me The Beast.  I know she loves me though.

So, what are other ways that Myrtle says "I love you"?

Wait.  Maybe you should know why a fellow like me has been thinking about this.  Well, you see, Myrtle got up when she was plumb exhausted to watch a movie with Bettina.  Bettina offering to watch the movie together was an I-love-you.  When I protested leaving the bed, Myrtle explained this to me.  Also, when I found Myrtle weeping over an email Aunt Bettina sent, Myrtle explained that her beloved friend had re-written a terrible dream so it had a happy ending for Myrtle.  The dream scared my puppy momma so much that she could barely even think about it and was shaking for days.  Aunt Bettina spent time writing out a better dream for Myrtle to have.

My puppy momma's explaination got me to thinking about the way she tells me that she loves me, since...you know...I hear a lot of "bad dog" due to my improper placement of bodily waste.  [Did I mention the stairs?]

I mean, Myrtle tells me that she loves me all the time.  She tells me that she loves me and she repeatedly (oh, so repeatedly) forgives me my errors and faults and foibles.  So, I know that my puppy momma loves me.  However, I think that she says it even more than she actually speaks the words.  Do you have anyone like that in your life?

I know Myrtle has Bettina.  My aunt says "I love you" to my puppy momma in so very many ways, most of them small moments that near overwhelm Myrtle in the magnitude of their meaning, of how often Bettina will take a mere moment to let Myrtle know that she is thinking of her (like texting a photo while she's out with her children) or to let Myrtle know that she knows and remembers her fears and struggles and worries (like sending a new ending to the dream).

Anyway, with regard to my puppy momma, I think I have already mentioned one way: Myrtle will bring some of the down pillows from the bed to the couch so that we can snuggle with them.  Oh, my, a fellow simply cannot have enough time on a mound of down pillows!

Hmm...what are some other ways?  Let's see:

Myrtle will sometimes bring up my most favorite chew toy so I can chow down in bed for a while, even though she's explained that she does not like it when I chomp in the bed...the noise, the slight jiggle....  Still, some evenings, she will swoop down and pick it up as we head to bed.

Myrtle puts milk in my food, breakfast and dinner.  She says a fellow shouldn't have to eat dry food all the days of his life.  Sometimes she saves bits and pieces from her meals and crumbles them into mine.  For example, she burned her pizza, so she cut off the still-edible-yet-too-crispy-for-her parts and added them to my meals over a few days until they were all gone.

Myrtle will let me run up and down before the fence with my girlfriend even when it has been raining.  By doing so, I turn my white feet and belly quite black and Myrtle has to spend quite a bit of effort to clean me up.  She lets me do this even when she is exhausted and always managed a laugh of joy with me as I wag my tail in tandem with Pepper.

Myrtle will let me be the first one up the stairs even though she is still nervous (and rightly so, I must admit) about my being on the brown grass alone.  If she starts up before me and I notice where she is headed and come bounding up behind her, she will step to the side so that I can be first.  She knows I love, love, love racing up and down the hallway on the brown grass whilst waiting for her to finish climbing the stairs. So, even though she worries about my darting into one of the bedrooms to do my business (yeah...I got to admit that I have done that, too), she still lets me be first.

This thinking is hard stuff. I am sure I am missing many things, may ways Myrtle tells me that she loves me.  But at least this is a start.  How about you? How do you say "I love you"?  How does a beloved one say it to you?


This is my life with Myrtle.  Amos Adams signing off!

Why do I do what I do?

You know, for a young pup, I think I am a fairly smart fellow.  I have learned many words: sit, lay down, upstairs, downstairs, up, bed, bath, food, bone, baby, potty, poo poo, outside, time out, momma's-going-to-work, WHAT-ARE-YOU-DOING? and...bad dog.  Sort of wish I didn't know that last one.

But, to be fair, sometimes I might possibly deserve it.  Maybe not the way Myrtle can holler at me, but still, I keep finding myself doing things that I know are wrong.  I just cannot help myself.

Like, well, where to do my business.  I guess it makes sense that I should go outside.  And day after day after day will pass without any problems.  Then a day (or even two or three) will come when I somehow fail to remember everything I have learned.  And I hear a lot of "bad dog."

The thing is, I know I have done wrong.  I poop on the floor and run and hide, because I know what is coming.  I poop on the floor and try to slink away without notice.  Inexplicably, I even poop on the floor right at Myrtle's feet! Why?

The other really strange thing I find myself doing is starting off right, but then somehow losing my way.  I will ask Myrtle to take me outside.  She will take me outside. And then...well...I don't do anything.  In my defense, I will say there are tons of terrors outside: the Fearsome Beast, wet grass, barking dogs, machinery, cars, lights, fireworks, people talking, rain, lightening, thunder, frolicking children, frost...the list is never ending. It is hard for me to brave my fears and concentrate on the task at hand.  Myrtle will give up after a half hour or so and let me back inside.  Then, before I can stop myself, when her back is turned, I ended up doing that wrong thing again.  Why?

I went three weeks, three whole weeks with no mistakes.  Now, not so much.  So, why in the world do I keep making mistakes?  Why do I continue to do the things I know are wrong?

Yesterday, I sort of hit a low point with my puppy momma: I pooped on the stairs.  In my way of thinking, I did not poop upstairs, nor did I poop downstairs.  Myrtle has actually never mentioned the stairs to me.

I like being with Myrtle.  I like snuggling with her and playing with her and just hanging out with her.  If I make mistakes, though, I don't get to be with her. I am left all alone in the kitchen to contemplate my choices.  I don't even get credit when I start to make the right choice but fail to follow through.  I want to be with her more than anything in the world.  I really, really do.  So...

Why do I do what I do?


This is my life with Myrtle.  Amos Adams signing off!

Being a puppy is exhausting at times...

Aren't I adorable?  Honestly, sometimes I don't know how Myrtle stands it.  I'm such a cute little fellow!

This is me, Amos, all tuckered out, snuggling with my puppy momma, Myrtle.

Myrtle has this new friend.  I call her Aunt Sandy, but really she is Sandra.  Sandra is...well...sort of exacting. I love her.  Oh, my heart pounds in excitement whenever she comes over and we play and play and play and play.  But...to play with Aunt Sandy, I have to learn things.  I had to learn to not jump all over her. I had to learn to not chew on bits of her.  And I had to learn to sit!

See.  Don't I do a most wonderful job of sitting?  I certainly think so.  And, well, to be honest with you, it was not so much Aunt Sandy teaching me how to sit as it was my figuring out what "sit" meant!

Unfortunately, my beloved Myrtle has taken a page out of Aunt Sandy's book.  So, I have now learned to "sit" and to "lay down."  Because I am probably the most smartest of puppies on the planet, I actually figured out what Myrtle meant by "lay down" in just a few moments.  Seriously, in no time at all, I was going from "sit" to "lay down."  Myrtle was very, very, very happy with me.  Still, she did not give me any bacon.

Tell me, what does a fellow have to do to earn even the merest morsel of bacon?

In any case, I am also wondering about this whole "lay down" business.  Actually, for someone with a Ph.D., Myrtle is not all that smart, like I am!  If she were, she would be telling me to "lie down," since "lay" requires a direct object.  Of course, she would probably retort that her command actually means "Lay yourself down, Amos."  That would make me the direct object.  But I know better to point out her mistakes.  Whenever Myrtle notices that her writing and speaking is becoming more and more filled with errors, she starts to weep again.  A weeping Myrtle hurts my heart.

But grammar is not really my beef with this command.  My problem is this:  As you can see from the photo, Aunt Sandy is holding my baby hostage.  Bumble Bee is being dangled precariously above me and I have to sit before she will let me have him. In fact, once I sat, Aunt Sandy flung him across the room for me to fetch. Poor Bumble Bee.  Still, even that is not my point about these commands.

First, I have to "sit," before Myrtle will toss a ball for me.  Now, I have to "sit" and then "lay down."  That means that even thought I have to be on my feet to fetch the ball or my baby, I must first get all the way off my feet, lie on my belly actually, before I can get back on my feet to fetch my beloved ball or baby.  Does that make any sense to you at all?

Right!  It does not!  I was certain that you would agree with me!!

Anyway, this is my life with Myrtle.  Amos Adams signing off!

Hear my cry...

I am crying, "Foul!" for one and all to hear.  Myrtle is a cheat.  Period.  End of story.

Here I am, mostly, doing my business out of doors in a proper like manner.  She doesn't want me going on the living room floor, nor on the brown grass upstairs.  Fine.  I am trying and trying and trying so hard most of the time I am exhausted.  A fellow simply cannot take enough naps in a day.

So, when we went down into the basement, when Myrtle kept me down there for a couple of hours, naturally, I took care of my business on the concrete floor.  What's a fellow to do?   And, FOR THE RECORD, all of Myrtle's hooting and hollering, all of her anger and disgust and disappointment have been over my indiscretions on the first two floors of the house.  She never really made it clear that the basement floor is also off limits!

IT IS NOT FAIR, THEN, THAT I HAD TO SUFFER A 30-MINUTE TIME-OUT ALL ALONE IN THE KITCHEN FOR ONE STINKING LITTLE MISTAKE!

I am thinking that someone needs to have a talk with Myrtle about getting her story straight.  She needs to be very clear just where it is that she does not want me to do my business.  This is a huge house, with plenty of flat surfaces, that, to my mind, absolutely do not differ all that much from the flat surfaces out of doors.

Inside. Outside.  Inside. Outside.  How is a fellow suppose to keep track of where he is?  Plus, we spend all our time inside.  So, what, really, is the problem of my taking care of business inside?

And Myrtle's foot has been hurt for a couple of months now.  Was it not rather thoughtful of me to not make her climb up the stairs and then come back down so she could finished her laundry?  All she had to do is pick up my small deposit and flush it down the toilet that is right there in the basement.

Well, she also had to wipe up the floor a bit.  But she was complaining that the concrete floor needs to have a proper scrubbing.  I just gave her a head start.

SIGH.  See? There are all these reasons, all these positive constructions Myrtle could have put on my actions.  But, no, none of them matter.  I am punished, once more, for something that was not--if you really consider the matter--my fault!

This is my life with Myrtle.  Amos Adams signing off!

A few of my favorite things...

My Favorite Things to Do:

• Snuggle with Myrtle after a bath
• Follow Myrtle around wherever she goes
• Shred every bit of paper I can get my paws on
• Gnaw on Myrtle's hand
• Snuggle with one or more of my babies
• Squeak one of my babies
• Lick Myrtle's dishes
• Chomp down on an empty Gatorade bottle
• Chase Pyrex bowls across the floor
• Fetch the balls Myrtle throws for me

Things I Wish I Could Do:

• Eat bacon
• Spend every minute of every hour of every day with Myrtle
• Do my business wherever I wish
• Dig in the dirt with Myrtle
• Catch and destroy the Fearsome Beast

This is my life with Myrtle.  Amos Adams signing off!

Is Myrtle Sane...

Meet Froggy and Duckie.  They are my new babies!  New babies with proper squeakers that squeak each and every time I squish them in my mouth.

Myrtle says they are my reward for going longer and longer before having an improper disposition of major deposits not out of doors.

Only, she does not call them Froggy and Duckie.  She calls them Froggy-Goes-Poo Poo-Outside and Duckie-Goes-Poo Poo-Outside.  Has Myrtle lost her marbles?  Who, pray tell me, in their right mind would ever name babies like that?  Who?  I fear for my puppy momma's sanity.  I truly do.

However, I am the happy adopter of new babies.  Remember?  A fellow can never have enough babies.  Never!

These are most wonderful, too, since they are so tiny.  They fit in my mouth just perfectly.  And, oh, those wonderful, fantastic, stupendous, most awesome squeakers!  Sometimes, I fall asleep with a baby in my mouth squeaking away until my dreams begin.

So, I am a very happy puppy.  I am also a very worried one....


This is my life with Myrtle.  Amos Adams signing off!

Does Myrtle love me...

Sometimes, I wonder if Myrtle loves me anymore.  Sometimes, I wonder if she ever loved me.  Mostly,  I wonder what love is.

I asked Myrtle about this once.  She got really, really quiet.  After a long while, she said she didn't really know what love is.  Then, she started weeping.  I never brought up the subject again.

I asked her about families.  This question was also greeted with tears.  But at least I can understand that.  I mean, what family ever stays together anymore?  My mom and my dad didn't even live in the same house.  For a while, I lived in a pile of puppies, my brothers and sister, and with my birth mom nearby, watching over me and giving me tasty stuff to drink from her body.  For the briefest of times.  Then, suddenly, without so much as a single goodbye, I lost the only home I had ever known to come live at this one.  Sometimes I wonder if...someday...I might find myself being forced to leave this one just as suddenly.

Do I love Myrtle?  Well, I want to be with her every moment of every day.  Okay, every moment that I am not playing with Neighbor Dog through the fence.  I leap up into her arms each time she returns from when she leaves.  I snuggle with her at night.  I shower her with kisses.  I forgive her for not sharing the bacon.  Do I love Myrtle?  I guess I do not really know.

Does she love me?  What is love?

She has become increasingly perturbed with me over my inappropriate deposits.  So much so, that I am scared of her response when she notices what I have done.  I try to hide behind the green chair, but she spots me anyway.  I hate it when she yells at me and then sticks me in what she calls puppy time out.  I hate it so much so that I have been trying very, very, very hard to do as she would like.  But, sometimes, wanting a thing is not enough...no matter how much you want it to be.

Myrtle cut my hair this afternoon.  She also pulled and cut hair from my ears.  Boy, does that ever make me feel as if she no longer loves me.  But then, tonight, she gave me a bath.  My favorite thing in the entire world!  [Remember, I have never tasted bacon.]  Twice now, she has done so in the basement sink.  Since I outgrew the kitchen sink and had to stand in both halves, I supposed I do not mind the gargantuan tub that is the basement sink.  Myrtle tried keeping the plug in, but as the water filled up around me, I started to panic.  She did not blame me one bit for my fear.  Myrtle simply pulled the plug and continued her scrubbing.

I guess you could say that what is my favorite thing in the entire world is what comes after the bath.  First, Myrtle dries my hair with two towels.  Then, she wraps me up as tight as a puppy can be in the third towel, wraps me up until I cannot move an inch and only my nose is sticking out.  Finally, she lies down on the couch with me.  Well, by the times she takes but a few steps from the sink, I am already asleep.  But since I wake up on the couch, I am fairly certain that is where Myrtle takes me.  She takes me there and holds me in her arms for as many hours as I wish to sleep.

Tonight, Myrtle muttered something about nothing but the best for her puppy and then carried me upstairs, still dripping a bit, to fetch a new towel.  A towel new to me.  It is this gloriously soft, thick, pink and purple and blue towel that Myrtle called a "beach towel," a towel that is at least a gazillion times larger than me.  By far, this is the BEST post-bath towel on the planet.

Above, you can see that Myrtle pulled the top of the towel back to get a good photo of me.  That's okay.  I was asleep anyway.  Actually, she said she took eight of them, four with the flash and four without.  None of the flashes woke me. I  was too busy sleeping.  And dreaming.

Does this most wonderful of towels mean that Myrtle still loves me even though her ire is increasingly raised against me and she will leave me in the kitchen all by myself when I have an accident no matter how much I beg and plead to be with her again?  How many times will she continue to forgive me for messing up?  Did Myrtle ever love me?  Do I love her?  Is she my family now?  What about my first family?  Did my mother and father love me?  Do my brothers and sister miss me?  Do either my parents or my siblings ever think about me?  With this new family last? What is family?  What is love?

As you can see, I am a fellow full of questions with no answers.  But at least I am soft and fluffy and smell like lavender now.  Myrtle cannot resist a soft and fluffy and lavender-smelling Amos.  No matter how many mistakes I make tomorrow, I will be forgiven.

This is my life with Myrtle.  Amos Adams signing off!

I'm not the only one...

I'm not the only one.  Myrtle...she can be down right sneaky!  I think, perhaps, my view of her has changed.

You see, for the longest time, I was getting her up at a reasonable hour:  9:00, 9:30, 10:00.  Don't those sound reasonable to you?  But then...Myrtle struck with a sneaky, crafty, underhanded move!

Myrtle hung two cotton blankets in our bedroom windows.  No longer does the glorious sun come pouring through the windows in the early morn, letting me know when we should awake.  No, that sneaky momma of mine has made it so that I am really not sure if it is morning or afternoon or early evening.

And so we sleep.  We sleep late.  Really late.

But that's not even the half of it.  Myrtle basically is a cheater.  Seriously, she is a cheater, cheater, pumpkin eater!

How so? you ask.  Myrtle has taken to leaving the windows opened all day and all night.  So, for example, last night it was 52 degrees in our bedroom.  FIFTY-TWO DEGREES!  So, a fellow is forced to snuggle up with his momma just to keep hypothermia from setting in.

And it doesn't even end there.  Seriously!  Well, whenever I stir, trying to do my duty for getting us both out of bed, Myrtle will pick me up, tuck my head beneath her chin, curl her body around mine, and stick out her hand for me to chew upon for a while.  The low-down dirty rat!
 
Early-morning, Myrtle will get up, tend her business, crawl back in bed, tuck me back in close, whisper sweet nothings, and I totally forget that we are supposed to be getting up for the day because it is dark and dreary in the room.  Dark and dreary and freezing cold.  But snuggling next to Myrtle, beneath the covers, I am warm.

Myrtle does the same a few hours later to take her morning medication.  Don't you think that if she is taking her medication for the day that Myrtle should get out of bed for the day?

Here she is, sticking out her arm to take a photo of me sleeping on her shoulder.  Yes, she's that bad.  She basically mocks me with her sneakiness by documenting it for all time.

I know...I know...I am an adorable fellow. You don't have to tell me.  And I am quite confident in my manhood, as you can see, to be sleeping so peacefully on floral sheets.  I suppose I do not really mind sleeping with Myrtle.  I just think she's setting a terrible example by being so sneaky and underhanded about getting us to sleep in later in the mornings.

And, well, I guess I should note just one small point.  Myrtle's been doing a lot of volunteering for a mission in Africa.  In going back and forth with the director, she's often up in the early hours of the morning.  If not with him, then with her writing project.  And if not her writing project is it either pain or nausea or both keeping her awake until exhaustion finally allows her to sleep.

Still.  Sneaky.  Is that really right?


This is my life with Myrtle.  Amos Adams signing off!

Love hurts...

Myrtle and I have been working on a proper understanding of where to do my business.  I would proffer that I am doing MUCH better at heeding her wishes.  I would also say--to be honest--because Myrtle has gotten downright ugly about even the smallest little mistake on my part when it comes to this matter.

An ugly Myrtle frightens me, is something that I definitely wish to avoid, and has been a great motivator to me to redouble my efforts to grasp the proper disposition of my business.  But, do not get me wrong, Myrtle is still a great puppy mom.  Whenever she loses her temper, she ALWAYS apologizes and asks for my forgiveness.  She really does try to be patient with me. I only wish I could be a better student in where it is she finds acceptable to relieve myself.

If you take a look see at my rather handsome photo, you will see my beloved Hippo.  You know I have said that a fellow cannot have enough babies.  A fellow also benefits from always having a baby or two with him.  Hippo is a GREAT friend. His squeaker is still intact, which is all kinds of awesome to me, but he fits best in my mouth, so is quite easy to carry around with me.  So loved is he, I rarely forget to carry him upstairs with me when it is time for bed.  Myrtle snuggles with me and I snuggle with Hippo.

Here you can see me with Neighbor Dog.  She is my current girl friend.

Now, our relationship got off to a rocky start.  In the first few days of living here, Myrtle and I were out in the backyard, as she tried to introduce me to the great OUTSIDE and grass. She had put a kettle on to boil and it started making a most wretched noise.  So, Myrtle darted inside to take it off the stove.  Before either of us could think, Neighbor Dog had appeared in the back yard and was dangling me from her teeth.

I squealed like stuck pig. [It was not my proudest moment.] Myrtle came running outside and charged Neighbor Dog.  She dropped me, Myrtle scooped me up, and then my momma tossed me in the back porch and closed the door.  She then ran next door, sobbing, and demanded that someone come fetch Neighbor Dog from our yard.

I admit that I was terrified and need hours of snuggling to calm down.  I also avoided the back yard as much as possible.  Myrtle was completely supportive of the former, but she was heartlessly against the latter and forced me to go OUTSIDE.  I was left to tremble on the other side of the yard as I searched for prospective spots to do my business.

Neighbor Dog is NOT like the Fearsome Beast.  Myrtle finally explained to me that she discovered Neighbor Dog is a female dog and was most likely trying to take care of me like my momma did.  She said that mommas will pick up their puppies in their mouths to carry them to safety.  Since I carry my babies around with my mouth to keep them safely nearby or to tuck them safely into bed, that made sense to me.  I decided to give Neighbor Dog a second chance.

She was VERY patient with me, spending days on end lying low to the ground and wagging her tail until I was brave enough to approach.  Once I was close, she stuck her nose between the links on the fence, gave me a kiss, and then popped back to her side and wagged her tail some more.  Her kiss was kind of nice.

Now, months later, we kiss all the time.  We wag our tails together and run up and down in front of the fence together.  Sometimes we talk and sing together.  Mostly, our relationship has been just great.  But then, just as with Myrtle, I was rather cruelly reminded that love hurts.

You can see in the photo above that Myrtle snapped of our kissing and tail wagging, Hippo is lying on the ground beneath my face.  My beloved Hippo.  My baby.  My staunch companion.

Nature called and I stepped away from Neighbor Dog to tend to my business.  When I turned back around, I was rather horrified to see that Hippo was gone!  My beloved Hippo was lost to me!

Myrtle, my wonderful Myrtle came running (okay...hobbling) at my first cry and quickly spotted the problem.  My beloved Hippo was hanging from Neighbor Dog's mouth on the OTHER side of the fence.  Oh, did my heart hurt.  The betrayal.  The fear.  The agony of separation.

Myrtle called out to Neighbor Dog, but instead of realizing her error, instead of understanding how much she was hurting me and giving me back my beloved Hippo, Neighbor Dog backed away from the fence and then turned and ran over to her deck.  Before I could really grasp what was happening, she had buried Hippo in a planter.  NEIGHBOR DOG BURIED HIPPO ALIVE!

Oh, my Hippo.  Oh, my beloved Hippo.

Myrtle, my beloved Myrtle, went running (okay...hobbling) over to the house next door and patiently waited on the porch for several long minutes until someone finally answered the door.  She explained the problem and asked that Neighbor Dog's momma rescue Hippo.  She did.  Myrtle brought him to me.  And, finally, my heart stopped hammering in my chest...finally, I could catch my breath...finally I could try my tears.  Hippo came back to me!

As you can see, Hippo is somewhat worse for the wear, having been so cruelly buried.  Myrtle promised me that he would soon be better.  Of course, that meant that she had to take him from my mouth and carry him down the steps to the basement.  Ever the faithful poppa to my Hippo, I lay down on the top step and waited for him to be returned to me for good.

Love hurts.  Really, it does.  It hurts to love another dog, because she will inevitably betray you.  It hurts to love a baby, because this world is wicked and evil and it is simply impossible to keep your babies safe. It hurts to love a momma because she will make you do things that you do not want to do.  Seriously, love hurts!


This is my life with Myrtle. Amos Adams signing off!

Myrtle Scissorhands...

Those are my ears.

Seriously, all that fluffy stuff and the bits not even in the picture and the chucks cut last night are my ears.

Myrtle likes to keep me cut short, even though she revels in my curls.  It is easier for her to care for me that way because as great as my curls are, when they get the slightest bit long, they mat.

Only, she's been keeping my neck hair longer because she says that my neck is too small for my body.  Myrtle has NOTHING to speak when it comes to things being too small.  Her head is WAY too small for her body.  I never mention this to her.  And yet she not only tells me about my neck, but she mentions her errant opinion to others.  SIGH.  [Good thing that I know what a handsome fellow I really am.]

Well, her unkind words have come home to roost.

There we were, last night, snuggling and all of a sudden, Myrtle starts feeling all over the back of my neck.  She sits up, starts muttering colorful metaphors.  Before I realized what was happening, my gentle puppy mom morphed into Myrtle Scissorhands.

She snipped and snipped and snipped until my neck hair was barely a quarter of an inch.  She then snipped off the back of both of my ears.  They are naked!

I thought my ordeal was over.  Oh, was I ever wrong.

Myrtle asked me if I wanted to go outside.  Because a fellow can always do a little business, I trotted out to my doom, completely unsuspecting of the torture awaiting me once I finished watering one of the bushes.  Myrtle pulled me up in her lap, showered me with kisses, murmured several apologies, and then picked up this metal instrument of pain and started dragging it through my ears.  My ears!

TWO HOURS LATER, Myrtle finally released me.  My ears were sopping wet from all the detangler stuff she constantly sprayed as she raked that thing through the hair on my ears over and over and over again.  All that fluffy stuff you see was my ears. My ears are lying on the ground...no longer attached to my body where they belong!  SOMEBODY HELP ME!

Okay...I still have some of my ears left.  Less than half what they were before Myrtle started in on them.  And, well, they are no longer two matted lumps aside my head covered by a layer of curls. They are now back to their silky soft fluffy wonderfulness.  Still...would you do that to someone you purportedly loved? Would you torture him remorselessly for hours on end?

SIGH.


This is my life with Myrtle.  Amos Adams signing off!

The value of a proper lean...

This is one of the first photos that Myrtle took of me.  I was such a tiny puppy compared to now, eh?  But handsome, yes?  So fluffy and irresistible, as Myrtle puts it.  Of course, she still finds me fluffy and irresistible, so I am not sure that counts for much.  In any case, this is me, was me, is me.  [However you would put that...just read it correctly and we can move on.]  There I was, minding my own business, when my birth momma's owner plucked me out of a pile of puppies, tossed me in a car, drove me down the road for a long spell, and dumped me in Myrtle's arms. I didn't understand what he was doing then.  And it did take me a while to figure it out.  I learned, eventually, that that was the beginning of my life with Myrtle.

I didn't know then, as I do now, what a supportive role I would be playing in Myrtle's life.  This photo here is the first one, I think, of Myrtle and me.  Quite a pair we make, if I do say so myself!  At the beginning, we did lots of snuggling.  Okay, we still do a lot of snuggling.  But I was so tired all the time that I was either eating, snuggling, or napping.  [Yes, I was also still not quite sure where I was supposed to be doing my business...but to be fair, I had never seen a blade of grass before I got here, remember?]

Anyway, back then, what I knew best was draping.  My brothers and sisters and I draped ourselves over each other.  I draped myself over Myrtle and even the babies she gave me.  Draping was, to me, the best way to sleep, the best way to get comfortable.  I suppose you could say that was because, back then, I just didn't know what my job was as Myrtle's puppy.  My world was all about me.  My naps, my food, my new babies, my new puppy mom.  So, understandably, I sort of just focused on what made me comfortable, what worked best for me.

I have learned, lately, that there is something better than snuggling, better than draping.  I have learned the value of a proper lean.

Myrtle can thrash something fierce at night with the things that fill her dreams.  For the longest time, I slept draped across some of the pillows near her head and then moved to curl up at her side.  I have always slept near her, both during our naps and at night.  But I have discovered that if I lean against her, she stays asleep longer and thrashes less.

I am still just a bitty fellow, even if she tries to tell you otherwise. I might be five or six times larger than when she met me, but I am still a bitty fellow.  My goodness, by comparison, Myrtle is a blooming giant!  Yet it is possible for me to lean against her in such a way that she always feels my presence.

Maybe, just maybe, I got the idea from when I started wedging myself between Myrtle's knee and the arm of the couch.  She'd tell me there was not enough space, and yet I always managed to find some.  I wiggled and pressed and magically, I would fit.  Now, this leaning stuff, it is not so much about wiggling, but it is about pressing.  At night, after I have played with my babies and a ball or two, had a good chew on my bed bone, and thoroughly aggravated Myrtle while she is reading, I curl up with my back against her and lean.  Somehow--I don't know how--I lie down where my back is almost on top of hers, as we are back to back, and slide down so I am leaning against her even when I am sleeping.  Even when she is sleeping.

If Myrtle rolls over on her other side, I shift to the pillows and lean against her forehead.  Sometimes, that means my backside gets a bit wet from the tears that fall from her face, but I don't mind.  You would think that, at this point, she would be leaning on me, but I am really leaning on Myrtle.

Well, after reading this, I think I've done a rather poor job of explaining.  But I'm not going to waste more time on trying.  I lean.  That's all you need to know. 

The important thing, in all of this, is that a proper lean can be as good as a hug and even better than draping. You see, draping is about me, about comforting me.  From what I have seen with others around Myrtle, hugging can also be about me--if I were able to hug her. But leaning is about Myrtle, about comforting her.  I do still crawl up on her shoulders. I do still cover her face with kisses. I do still tuck my neck atop hers.  I do still slip my head in the crook of her elbow.  All of those things are important and all of those things Myrtle savors.  But I know...I know from how much calmer she is...I know that leaning against Myrtle comforts her more than anything else I have done.

Perhaps...maybe it helps Myrtle to be reminded, even while sleeping, that she is not alone.  

I can understand that.  You see, whenever Myrtle gets up to do her business or to fetch a drink or to bring more wood in for her fires, I follow her.  Every time.  Even if I am so tired from being awoken from a nap by her movement and find myself falling back asleep on the kitchen floor in the brief time it takes her to pour a Dr Pepper, I will follow.  I will follow her because I don't like to be alone.

So, my recommendation is--if you have someone important in your life--lean against him.  Sit or lie down next to her and just lean.  Don't hug him for you. Don't drape yourself over her for you.  Lean and, in so doing, remind the one you love that he is not alone and that you are there to comfort her.

This is my life with Myrtle.  Amos Adams signing off!

Perhaps...just perhaps...I might have over-reacted...

Myrtle put cream in my dinner.  Four times.  I suppose she really does love me.

I showed my appreciation by wiping the bowl clean...in just two minutes.  I couldn't really tell you what cream tastes like.  I was too busy inhaling it.  SIGH.

Today, I was thinking that I have not written enough about how great babies are.  My life with Myrtle would certainly be less rich without them.  I thought I might try to explain.

First, a fellow needs lots of babies.  I don't have nearly enough yet.  So far, I got me a turtle, a hippo, a bumble bee, a lady bug, and my ever beloved flower.  Sadly, all of them save for the hippo have broken squeakers. Myrtle has tried to explain to me that they are broken, that, in fact, no matter how often or how long I squeeze them they will no longer generate that mellifluous sound, but I still try anyway.

[Have you ever noticed how many adults will squeak the toys in the pet store?  I tell you, it's an amazing sound.  A happy sound. I miss the squeakers. SIGH.]

Anyway, babies are just great.  They snuggle with you and play with you and go places with you.  Lately, Lady Bug has been going outside with me.  Actually, she goes everywhere with me.  Such a faithful friend, eh?  She is big enough that I can nap on her and on Bumble Bee.  And her antennae are very convenient chewing "toys," as are Bumble Bee's ears. They both also are always ready with a grin.  Kind of cheers a fellow up...say, well, when his momma been lecturing him on how he's backslide with his recent liquid indiscretions indoors.

Babies are also useful for comforting Myrtle...or just hearing another of her great big guffaws.  When I carry one around me with, she laughs. When I tuck one beneath my neck for a nap, she smiles and showers me with kisses...while I am trying to sleep (I have to forgive her for waking me up).  And when I place one in her lap or even try to stick it in her mouth when she is weeping, she will sometimes stop crying and practically squeeze the life out of me.

Babies are just great.  A fellow cannot have enough of them...for himself or his momma.  I'm looking forward to the new babies that will join our home in the years to come.  [Hint, hint, hint...Myrtle.]

This is my life with Myrtle.  Amos Adams signing off!

Myrtle must not love me anymore...

Weep with me. I no longer believe that Myrtle loves me anymore.  Weep with me.

Tonight, before bed, we ventured OUTSIDE so that I could take care of my business.  Myrtle had been trying to get me to nap for over an hour so that she could finish the novel she was reading, but I kept nipping her to let her know that I needed to go outside.  She gets so very frustrated when I do my business indoors.  But I was very frustrated with her not understanding my need.

Well, there we were, Myrtle and I, OUTSIDE, and who do we spot?  Yes, the FEARSOME BEAST.  Something came over me in that moment.  All the ire I have felt over having to share my abode with him welled up within me and took over.  Without a second thought, I launched myself at him and chased him all about the yard.  After nearly reaching my limit, I was finally gaining on him. And then the Rat Bastard cheated.  The Fearsome Beast darted beneath the fence on the Good Neighbor side of the yard.  He darted beneath the fence and turned around to wiggle his ears at me.

Righteous indignation renewed my flagging energies, and I tried to follow.  All that happened, though, is that I hit the fence so hard, it flung me backward.  Wounded, heart pounded, and stunned, I lay on the grass, expecting my momma to come love on me, to pick me up in her arms and cuddle me against her chest, murmuring sweet nothings into my ears and showering me with kisses.  Instead...

...Myrtle laughed.

Myrtle laughed her big guffaw loud enough to awaken the entire neighborhood.  Her whole body shook with amusement at my embattled, bruised, broken body lying on the ground.

Weep with me.  Myrtle clearly does not love me anymore. Weep with me.

This is my life with Myrtle.  Amos Adams signing off.

Just shy of perfection...

Myrtle really is the bee's knees.  She's tops...practically perfect.  I mean, who could want a better puppy mom?

Sure, she shouts unpleasantries at me whenever I forget the proper place to make my deposits.  And she has this aversion to my rolling about in the mulch.  Oh, yeah, there is the whole refusal to allow me to dig in any way, shape, or form. But she's still a stellar puppy mom.

Well...there's one more thing.  You see, Myrtle has a hard time remembering things.  She forgets nearly everything.  Lately, something that really bothers her is walking into the kitchen and finding the refrigerator door open.  She opens it for something, turns away, and forgets that it is open. I suppose forgetting can be upsetting.  I mean, my forgetting where to relieve myself certainly upsets her.  But there is this one small thing I sort of need her to remember.

Water.

My beloved puppy mom forgets to give me water, to check my water bowl.  It's dry a lot.  I guess you could say I'm a thirsty fellow.

This morning, I licked the dew off the leaves, much to Myrtle's displeasure.  She kept hollering at me to stop.  I didn't want to make her angry, but I was really thirsty.  After all, my bowl had been dry since the afternoon before.  I also didn't want to make her feel bad by pointing out the empty water bowl.  However, when we got back inside, Myrtle saw the bowl, put two and two together, and burst into tears.  She filled up my bowl and showered me with kisses and apologized over and over again.

My puppy momma was so bereft that I wish I never need water ever again.  I really hate for her to feel badly and crawled into her lap and started wiping the tears off her cheeks and then crawled up her shoulders to wrap myself around her neck and stick my head next to hers.  She likes that very much.  [I do, too.]

I would most certainly go without drinking water ever again.  But Myrtle tells me water is important to living.  So, Myrtle needs a way to help her remember to fill the water bowl.  I cannot think of anything.  Can you?


This is my life with Myrtle.  Amos Adams signing off!

Looking on from afar...

Myrtle attacked the roots in the bed up by the side of the porch today.  She made me spend the time peering at her through the fence rather than lying beside her or helping her dig in the dirt.  She NEVER wants me to help her dig in the dirt.  What's up with that?

With each trumpet vine root she pulled from the ground, a great shout erupted from Myrtle.  After a while, I began to think that perhaps she was digging more than roots.  By the time she was done, her yard waste bag was full again and a huge pile of dirt was mounded beside her.  But even then she did not want my help spreading the latter back out.

Once the bed was all level again, Myrtle replanted the ferns that had been in the bed and planted the rest of the mums that had been sitting on the back steps.  Some of them are a bit crushed because Myrtle did not explain to me that they were not a colorful rug upon which I could rest.  That Myrtle, she actually expects me not to cushion my body with her plants.  My goodness, that means she intends me to suffer on the hard, unyielding ground or steps.

Well, to be honest, she did invite me to rest on her new lounge chair with her.  I did, but it is not the same as when she lets me crawl in her lap as she perches on the back step.  I tuck my head in the crook of her right arm and she hunches over my body, as if in a strange sort of hug. Our hearts beat together, and we exchange sighs for the solace that hanging out together brings.  On the lounge chair, I cannot be as close to her, draped across her lap, as I can on the step.

I, of course, have been delighted with all her work in the yard, providing long stretches of mulch in which I might play.  Of course, I have to sort of sneak that play in now.  Myrtle gets so bothered when I venture into the beds.  I say she should not have pulled out all those ground plants and made it so easy for me to walk about the beds if she had intended that I stay out of them.  Being a smart fellow, I start off by doing my business in the bed.  Myrtle's protest dies on her lips and she turns back to her little gadget upon which she plays games.  That leaves me free to frolic to my heart's content...or at least until she looks back up and hollers my name.

Funny that.  Myrtle can make my name seem as if she's showering me with kisses or as if she's smacking my back side all in her tone of voice.  I prefer the former, but when it comes to being outside these days, I seem to engender the latter...just because I'm a fellow who likes to play.  SIGH.

Today, though, we spent most of the day curled up on the couch together.  Something is bothering her more than usual.  That's why I think those roots were not just roots.  While I sure wish Myrtle would let me help with the digging and spreading the mulch, I guess sitting in front of the gate looking on from afar was not so bad, given how much time she's held on to me today.

Give and take.  That's how two folk live together, right?


This is my life with Myrtle.  Amos Adams signing off!

Speaking terms...

Myrtle and I am on speaking terms again.  Funny, she was all put out about my frolicking in the mulch again as she worked.  [Why put it there if not to provide hours of enjoyment for her beloved puppy dog?]  But...magically...I am much loved because I left an evening deposit in the yard.  In fact, my morning one was made there, too.  So silly for Myrtle to have joy about where I make deposits.

While lounging across the top step as she worked in the bed on the side of the house, I got to thinking that Myrtle sort of throws herself into these projects like no one I've ever seen before.  Granted, I've seen few folk, but she just gets the dirt flying as if her life depended upon it, or something.

Since she was not quite done by dinner time, she served me out of doors.  I am of two minds about eating outside. I mean, in the mornings, I eat in the kitchen while Myrtle lies on the floor still trying to wake up.  Her head is right next to the bowl, and sometimes I snuggle up next to her as I eat.  In the evenings, she serves me on the couch as she eats her own dinner.  For some reason, I always finish first, so I leap up on the top of the couch and put my neck on her shoulder.  Almost without thought, Myrtle will slip me a bit or two as she eats.  When she is done, I tuck myself between her and the side of the couch and have a good long nap.

But when I eat out of doors, morning or evening, Myrtle stays on the steps after placing my bowl on the sidewalk.  I'm all alone.  Of course, I do have lots going around me instead of the silence of the house.  Birds are whistling.  Leaves are rustling.  Neighbors are chattering.  And I am crunching. It's pretty peaceful in its own way, I guess.

However, snuggling with Myrtle, even just pressing up against her is a wonderful thing.  Touching her, draping across her, leaning on her...I am not alone in those times.  That makes me happy.  I am fairly sure it makes Myrtle happy, too.

So, I suppose that eating outside every once in a while is okay, but I prefer chowing down inside with my Myrtle by my side.  Even if I am not getting extra tidbits, at least I am not alone.


This is my life with Myrtle.  Amos Adams signing off!

The best of all mornings...

Myrtle and I do not agree about mornings.  She would define morning as starting around noon.  I define morning as beginning between 9:00 and 10:00 AM.  We are at odds over this.

Lately, she's been a tad sneaky about changing my mind.  You see, when I wake up and start tap dancing on the antique trunk at the end of our bed to get her attention, she will pick me up, tuck me beneath the covers, and curl her body around mine.  Prime snuggling ensues.  Yes, I cave, and I usually end up letting her sleep an hour or so longer.

But then there are my most favorite of all mornings: the mornings when the alarm clock sounds!

Such joy I feel at those first notes.  Such joy that I find myself wagging my tail something fierce and do not stop until I am outside.  You see, I know that we are most definitely, most assuredly getting out of bed.  And that means another day with Myrtle.  And while Myrtle might moan and groan about the alarm sounding, so great is my joy she ends up laughing with me.

At the first beep, I leap up and launch myself at Myrtle, grabbing her hands to remind her to start rubbing my belly.  She starts chuckling deep in her throat.  I wiggle in delight as she does and wag my tail as fast as possible.  Mostly, because Myrle LOVES it when I wag my tail (though the sight of my stump bothers her).  She will start chortling out loud and bend over me as she rubs my belly and behind my ears, which gives me the perfect opportunity to slather her with morning kisses.  This makes her erupt with great big guffaws and lean back to dry her face on the nearest pillow.  Of course, I then roll over and launch myself at her again. On and on it goes, a good ten or fifteen minutes of joyous I-get-another-day-with-Myrtle play.

Of course, such play exhausts me, so after we take our trip outside and she feeds me breakfast and then we go outside for my more serious business, I plop down for my morning nap.  Sometimes we sleep together. Sometimes I sleep with one of my babies.  You can see above a nap with Bumblebee on the GREEN chair.

Yep, mornings are just wonderful.  Especially the ones that start with an alarm clock, like today.  Copious amount of belly rubs, tail wagging, wrestling about the bed, kisses, and Myrtle's rich laughter.  Life doesn't get any better than that, eh? 


This is my life with Myrtle.  Amos Adams signing off!

The things we share...

Myrtle spent time in the yard today.  I honestly do not understand the why of what she does.  And, again, she was not interested in me joining her play.

Today, she used a shovel to dig in the ground.  I guess her hands do not work as my paws do, because I have no problem digging in the ground.  Only, she doesn't want me to do so.  She dug and dug, up and down before the fence, and then scooted along the ground pulling up all the green growing things there.  Well...the brown wilted things.

I thought this was a great idea, though, because it meant that I could get right up next to the fence when I run back and forth with my neighbor dog.  Only Myrtle didn't want me doing that either.  In fact, she kept muttering how stupid she was, but since she started, she'd have to finish.

What's wrong with dirt?  We both clearly like to play in it!

Of course playing in the dirt meant baths for us both.  And that brings up another thing we share besides dirt fun.  Scars.  We both got them from that terrible pit bull.  Myrtle has more than I do.  Hers bother her.  The one in my side does me.  I lick it to make it better.  Myrtle doesn't like me to do that.  I chew the hair around it to make it better.  Myrtle doesn't like me to do that either.

[As much as I think Myrtle's the bee's knees, there sure seems to be an awful lot of stuff she doesn't like me doing.  Me, I don't like her cutting my nails or cleaning my ears or touching my scar.  Simple, eh?  Three little itty bitty things to remember.  Easy as pie.]

Our scars make her sad.  Our scars make her tremble.  Our scars make her hold me tighter that she usually does.

We share a lot of good things, Myrtle and I.  We share a bed filled with pillows.  We share a comfortable couch. We share meals.  We share baths.  We share babies and balls and even bowls.  We also share some bad things.

Myrtle likes to watch Doctor Who.  I guess I like watching it with her because it makes her happy.  Mostly.  One day, it made her sad and quiet.  Really quiet.  The Doctor spoke these words, and she wrote them down:

The way I see it, every life is a pile of good things and bad things.  The good things don’t always soften the bad things, but vice versa the bad things don’t always spoil the good things or make them unimportant.

Sometimes, when Myrtle is clutching me tight, she whispers softly in my ear: You're a good thing, Amos. You're momma's good thing.


This is my life with Myrtle.  Amos Adams signing off!

What's wrong with dirt...

What's wrong with dirt?  I don't get it.  I really don't!

I go frolicking about in a bit of dirt and Myrtle gets all kinds of upset.  Sharp words are flung my way and her hands are none too gentle as she picks me up and holds my paws beneath running water in the sink.  To add insult to injury, Myrtle doesn't give me a bath when my paws turn black; she just washes the dirt off of them and leaves me with damp paws.  It's been practically forever since my last bath.  SIGH.

She didn't take a photo today, but here's a shot from a while ago.  My paws don't look that bad, do they?

Today, Myrtle spent a long time attacking the ground with this claw-like tool. All the while, she was muttering up a storm.  By the time she was done, the ground that used to hold the Rose of Sharon bushes was turned up and crumbled--all the way from the lilac tree, past the bird bath, and on over beneath the ornamental magnolia tree. 

I was plumb exhausted from chasing the Fearsome Beast out of the yard, so I spent a while resting in my favorite spot on the top of the back steps.  If you look closely, you can see one of my outdoor chew toys.  I try to bring them in the house, but Myrtle doesn't like me shredding them inside.  I don't know why, though....

Part way through her labors, I got to thinking she looked mighty lonely over there, attacking the ground and muttering to herself.  A person walking by might think she was a tad off her rocker, so I thought I would be quite helpful and join her.  The dirt was all soft and fluffy, so I rolled around in it and helped her attack the dirt.  Much to my surprise, Myrtle was not pleased at all with my help.  In fact, some shouting was involved.  While I disagree, Myrtle seems to think I should have known she would not have preferred my help.  But, I ask you, if we do practically everything else together, how am I supposed to know mucking about in the dirt is NOT something she wants to share with me? [A bit stingy of her, too, my way of thinking!]

Well, we've both been recovering on the couch.  The first photo is one of my favorite places to nap.  I find Mrytle to be a tad like a heating pad, which helps since she keeps the house so cold.  The second is why it is that I think Myrtle is just swell: she doesn't mind my stretching a bit even when I am atop her torso.

Even though Myrtle has some strong opinions about dirt, she is a good mate.  Even though Myrtle has very high expectations about my remembering everything she thinks a puppy should know, she is a good puppy mom.  Even though she still refuses to share her bacon, I think I have it pretty good. After all, someone who lets you nap to your heart's desire and joins you much of the time is my kind of buddy!  And, well, she did forgive me...eventually...for eating her eggs and bacon.

This is my life with Myrtle.  Amos Adams signing off!

Sometimes, she just doesn't seem to get it...

Here it is.  The Ferocious Beast.  All these months later, Myrtle still allows this MONSTER to live in our back yard despite the fact that it is getting bigger by the minute!  Why?

I mean, it is not like the thing is cute or anything like that.  I am the one who is fluffy and soft and irresistibly adorable.  I am the one who snuggles Myrtle and kisses her. I am the one who keeps her company when she is sad and who crawls in her lap when she is afraid.  I am the one who makes her burst into laughter (though I still do not understand why she does so whenever I am tending to my babies).  I am the one who sleeps with her and presses my back to her when she has such terrible dreams. I am the one who is even willing to share her dinner with her and lick her plate clean so that washing it is easier.  So, why in the world would she let this MENACE continue to live with us?

I just don't think she gets it.  Or, to be fair, maybe I don't get Myrtle.

Today was much the same of late.  I make one tiny mistake indoors, and she gets all bent out of shape.  She weeps. I curl up in her lap.  She works on the computer. I try to help.  She rebuffs my every attempt. I have to listen to her wail about being unable to figure out how to do something in her design program. I try to help again, she actually raises her voice at me and sets me on the farthest end of the couch.

Why does Myrtle not want my help?  I am absolutely certain I could effect a better work around than she eventually did.  Plus, well...I just seem to have more fun plucking away at the keys than she does lately.

Myrtle also took offense at my willingness to clean her plate while she was up from the couch.  Just because it still had some fried egg and bacon on it didn't mean that it was not yet time to clean it.  After all, I am just a puppy.  How in the world am I supposed to know she wasn't done?  When I have a bowl of food before me, I don't stop to even breathe until it is all gone.  Myrtle?  She nibbles here and there for what seems like hours before she finishes.

Yep!  Really, the truth of the matter is that I simply don't get Myrtle.  I guess I should be taking better notes or something.  Only when's a fellow supposed to get his rest?  Today, all those computer, poop, and dinner shenanigans means I've only gotten in four naps thus far.  Sheesh!

This is my life with Myrtle.  Amos Adams signing off!

About my name...

Already I have gotten a lot of questions about my name.  I don't know why.  Amos is a perfectly acceptable name for a puppy dog, don't you think?  Amos Adams.  Kind of cool, if you ask me.  Rolls off your tongue pretty easily, doesn't it? 

Now, if I were a photographer, say of black and white work, it might be a problem.  But I'm pretty sure when I grow up I'll be something different.  So, I'm not at all worried about that.

So, Amos.

Well, it is kind of a weighty name.  I mean, most adorable puppies get cute names, right?  My Aunt M was campaigning for Cloud or Snowball.  Myrtle liked the idea a bit, but she really wanted a name that meant something to her and would mean something to me.  So, she named me Amos.

She named me Amos from one of her favorite passages from the Living Word.  [We're a confessional Lutheran household, so it's all about Word and Sacrament around here.]

"In that day I will raise up the fallen booth of David,

And wall up its breaches;
I will also raise up its ruins
And rebuild it as in the days of old;

That they may possess the remnant of Edom
And all the nations who are called by My name,"
Declares the LORD who does this.

"Behold, days are coming," declares the LORD,
"When the plowman will overtake the reaper
And the treader of grapes him who sows seed;
When the mountains will drip sweet wine
And all the hills will be dissolved.

"Also I will restore the captivity of My people Israel,
And they will rebuild the ruined cities and live in them;
They will also plant vineyards and drink their wine,
And make gardens and eat their fruit.

"I will also plant them on their land,
And they will not again be rooted out from their land
Which I have given them,"
Says the LORD your God.

You see, God has finished telling Israel about her captivity, the trials and tribulations to come--and, man, were they rough times--but then He makes this promise...that one day...the riches of blessings will be so great that the mountains will drip sweet wine.  Can you imagine such a time?  Of course, maybe it should have been the mountains will be covered with kibble or treat bones or such.  But, hey, I cannot really argue with how God wanted to write His Message.

Myrtle, my doggie mom, well, she needs some hope.  She's had a lot of rough times.  So, Myrtle needs the idea of riches beyond measure.  And she needs a new beginning.  I'm her new beginning, her promises of the riches to come.  It's a hard name to live up to, but I think that it fits.  At least, I sure am working hard at pouring out riches upon her with all my kisses and snuggling and holding on to her.

Of course, as I said, it's all about Word and Sacrament around here. So, Myrtle reads about lots and lots and lots of wine and it gets her started thinking about the Lord's Supper, which gets her thinking about forgiveness.  That makes her happy, nearly gleeful.  I like a gleeful Myrtle. Sometimes, when she's playing and laughing with me, I see this look in her eyes when she calls out my name.  Her voice takes on a special note and an eagerness to tumble me about washes over her.  It's then I know she's thinking about why she named me Amos.  It's then when the two of us have the best time.  A gleeful Myrtle is a contagious thing.

Today, I was feeling kind of gleeful myself.  You see, I think Myrtle was feeling kind of guilty about refusing to bring down any extra pillows for me.  At least it sure seems like she was...for she piled high all three pillows for me so that I could have one spectacular nap!

Okay, I'll be honest about this.  Before I was napping on this bed from heaven, Myrtle was.  But that guilt surely must have been what made her not put the pillows back when she awoke so that I might enjoy them!

What do you think?  Does it look like I'm enjoying them?  SIGH.  I sure love me some pillows!

This is my life with Myrtle.  Amos Adams signing off!

Pillows, pillows, and even more pillows...

Myrtle keeps many, many pillows on our bed.  In fact, there are two more she keeps on the floor by the far side of the bed where people peaking in the room cannot see them.  At night, they are no longer on the floor, but rather in the bed with us.

Pillows!  I LOVE down pillows!  Did I mention that?  They are all down pillows.  If I am counting rightly, we share eight pillows.  Ah, down pillows!

Myrtle sleeps with pillows beneath her head and beneath both arms and both legs.  That makes six.  I am not sure the why of the other two pillows, but I do not object.  Most often, they are at the head of the bed and make a perfect nest for me to curl up in when she leaves take her medication in the early hours of the morning.

At first, Myrtle tried to move me out of my nest.  But didn't I say that I am a smart fellow?  When she tried this, I would play dead.  All limp and heavy like that, she was hard pressed to move me.  Both the weight of me and my adorable floppy body.  If I could figure out how to fake a snore, she wouldn't have even tried.  [Myrtle loves my snoring.  That's the truth. I oft hear her say so!]  Now, when I get my change to claim the nest, she just curls herself around me and rests her head upon the edges of my nest.  Hey, I just thought of something, my claiming the nest means that she's not sleeping along one edge of the bed.  We are, in fact, both in the middle of the bed.

Oh, I just love those all pillows!  SIGH.

I have pillows on my mind because today Myrtle brought down two pillows from the bed when we woke up.  I didn't know such a thing was possible!  My beloved pillows can leave the bedroom?  Now, this might have something to do with the fact that I dragged her out of bed at 9:05 AM, which, for Myrtle, is an ungodly hour of the morning.  If this is the case, perhaps I should get her out of bed early every day? Tempting...but...she needs her rest.  My Myrtle is tired all the time. I wouldn't want to make her more tired.

At first, she tossed them on the GREEN chair and the four of us snuggled away.  The GREEN chair is amazingly comfortable in and of itself, but being able to make a nest with the pillows and the crook of Myrtle's arm was sublime!  We both got some good snoozing in that way.

After she got up for the second time this day, she moved the pillows to the couch. I think she was thinking she would use them.  But, alas, I have happily been ensconced upon them all day!  They are just like being back with my sisters and brothers--so very comfortable no matter how I drape myself across them!  Would you believe I only spent 5 minutes on the back of the couch?  I do like looking about the window so that I am primed to announce each person who dares to cross in front of our house. But the call of the pillows was too great!

I wonder, what would it take to get Myrtle to bring some pillows down with us every morning?  I wonder, what would it take for her to bring all eight of them down?  Can you imagine the wonder of that??

This is my life with Myrtle.  Amos Adams signing off!

Again? Sigh...

Myrtle and I had a strong difference of opinion today.  You can guess the topic.

She is rather fierce when her ire is raised against me.  Mostly, she gets really sad about my misplaced deposits.  Try as she might, though, she cannot hold out against my onslaught of nuzzling and kissing.  No matter how angry she is, all I really have to do is remind her that I am her biggest fan.  That does the trick.

Tell me, what's so wrong with hanging off the edge of the couch to take care of business?

The best part of today was getting to play with the applesauce dish again.  You know, a fellow breaks one single dish and suddenly he cannot be trusted with anything anymore! But today, despite my personal needs failures, she let me grab the applesauce dish after I had wiped it clean and chew on it for a while.

I am not sure how, but it fell on the ground again.  Sharp words came out of Myrtle's mouth, but the bowl did not break.  We both forgot about it until after we went outside for a potty break and came back to play on the floor for a while.

You might think I like playing with my balls and my babies because they are fun toys.  In truth, I like playing with my balls and my babies because doing so makes Myrtle laugh.  I love her great big guffaws. I wish I heard them more.

Of course, I do not know why she finds my play humorous.  Mostly, she laughs at my very serious attempts to hold all my babies in my mouth or carry more than one ball in my mouth at a time.  Babies need to be tended.  Carrying them about with me ensures that they are safe.  And how could I ever choose between them?  Am I supposed to leave baby Hippo behind because baby bumblebee is wanting to remain with me as I visit the kitchen?  And what about baby Lady Bug?  SIGH.  I'm just trying to be a good dad, really, and she laughs at me.

The balls, well, they are just plain fun.  Myrtle has been ill for nearly our whole time together, so I don't blame her for failing to notice that my mouth had grown too big for the teeny weeny balls she had bought me that first day we met.  Fortunately, my beloved Aunt Leslie noticed and brought two these proper-sized, big boy puppy balls.  [I love my Aunt Leslie!]  Myrtle, spotting some that squeaked, bought me three more. I love all five of them. I like to play with all five of them.  So, what's wrong if I am trying to play with all five of them at the same time?

Well, today, while I was chasing after a ball, I spotted the bowl and started playing with it.  In short order, Myrtle was rolling on the floor in laughter.  Now, why she was laughing is beyond me.  I was simply chasing the bowl that kept--for reasons unknown--skittering across the floor.  Never the less, I am happy she was happy. I am happy that I could make her happy.  A happy Myrtle makes for a happy Amos.  A sad Myrtle makes for a sad Amos.  Not sure why.

This is my life with Myrtle.  Amos Adams signing off.